


with the brain, one can even turn pain into pleasure.

by faucer



Series: hurting for a very hurtful pain AU [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Other, Suicide mention, going mad from the pain, no beta we die like men, you're gonna carry that weight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 01:50:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faucer/pseuds/faucer





	with the brain, one can even turn pain into pleasure.

‘it’s unreasonable to the extreme to continue this way.  
you’ll be free of this nuisance, as you have devotedly baptized me.   
don’t get too full of yourself and take the slightest bit of care.   
goodbye.’   
  
you should see him when he reads your message. confused, panicking, checking and touching his body all over as if, he too, could bear the wound of what you did to yourself. trying so hard and for so long to get a reaction out of him. ironically, you managed the sole time it wasn’t your intention. you must have used something painless, he thinks, since he didn’t feel anything– he didn’t notice you dying? was he too busy working? maybe he mistook your heartbreak for your last breath? but why he’s asking himself these questions? shouldn’t relief wash over him? shouldn’t he be glad that you killed yourself? you.... killed yourself. was it– was it because of what he said to you? because you couldn’t live without painkillers? was the ache too strong? you were a stupid fragile human, after all, he knew you couldn’t go on with no medications, he was merely joking, well, maybe joking is not the right term but– he wouldn’t have done anything was he to find them again when he came a few days later. he didn’t mean to–   
the agony should logically be gone now but he still feels terribly unfulfilled.   
the weeks that follow are weird.   
he rents your old apartment, asking the landlord to not move any furniture, _your_ furniture. androids don’t need a place nor home fittings yet he has the visceral need to preserve things as they were, _as they are._ he buys groceries and tries to cook, tasting food and then getting rid of it almost immediately after the first bite. he finds your cell phone and each day he carefully looks at your old texts with your friends, your thoughts stored in the notes and, before heading to work, the only thing you left him; your farewell’s letter. he also discovers a morbid obsession with your bed, just sitting on it at first, then getting comfortable in setting down his mechanical figure on your favourite side. he swears sometimes he can still sense your scent on the pillow sheets.   
is this was humans call ‘guilt’ and ‘remorse’?   
  
one night, while saving energy in low-power mode, his simulation software starts up. no warnings indicating why or how. it’s the memory of a countless occasion you and him had sex. except it’s different. he doesn’t remember it to be so.... tender. he never kissed you, never covered your neck and hips in hickeys, never whispered i love you’s into your hears, never watched you giggle under his sturdy frame because of a silly quip, never caressed your face, never adored you so much. raw warmness and nothing else, no more suffering; it’s what he experiences every time he thrusts into you, every time he comes, every time he relaxes on your chest, drawing useless circles on your soft skin.   
  
eventually, he goes mad, purely existing during job hours and properly living during the dark, alone with you, ignoring reality. 


End file.
